Fixed Star
by EntSpinster
Summary: For the holidays: Aragorn, serving in Gondor as Captain Thorongil, writes a letter to Gilraen his mother. Book canon. Gap filler.


Fixed Star

Castles are sacked in war,  
Chieftains are banished far,  
Truth is a fix-ed star.  
(Irish ballad, Eileen Aroon)

The doorway of the little gray stone house in the Angle was trimmed in evergreen, with here and there a sprig of holly. No mistletoe, though, not in forty-six years, during nineteen of which it had stood empty.

The woman who opened the door was tall, with a sprinkle of gray in her dark hair. She wore a long kilt and a shawl of the Chieftain's plaid, gray and cream wool with narrow stripes of black and dark red. Her expression had been one of settled sadness, but it brightened to a smile when she saw her visitor.

"Halbarad! So you are back from the borders. Have you come to see your sister's daughter? She came in two days ago, but she has taken my mare to the smithy for me. I expect her back shortly."

"To see you, Chieftain's mother, and Haleth as well, with the blessings of the season."

"Will you stay and wait, then? There is cider and oatcakes and shortbread, with Haleth's gift, a fine ham from a boar she speared herself. Knowing you, I am sure you saw your horse fed and cared for, but it does not seem that you did as much for yourself."

"Say that I thought I would fare better here than at the Ranger's hall. But I have a better reason for coming here unwashed--something for you from far away, that I did not think you would wish to wait for." He held out a flat packet of greased leather, stitched tight on the edges.

"Aragorn?"

"So I would guess. Who else would send to you by Dwarf and Mirkwood Elf?"

"Will you excuse me?"

"Of course. I will eat and drink, and wait for Haleth. Should I cut the stitches for you?"

"Not at all. I may never have mastered the sword, but I can use a sewing knife."

Inside the greased leather was another wrapping of waxed linen. And inside that, fair parchment, and writing in a dear familiar hand, dark and clear.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, to Gilraen his mother-

Dearest Mother,

Greetings, and all the bright blessings of the season.

I hope this reaches you by the longest night. Gandalf has promised to start it on its way East and then North, so it may arrive in timely fashion.

I begin to see an end to my time in Gondor and my life as Thorongil, mercenary from the North. There is a great nest of pirates down on the coast that needs to be cleared out, and then I will likely quit the service of the Stewards. The Steward is a good man, and his heir not a bad one, and he in turn has a young but sturdy son.

If ever I thought to come to the crown at this time, it was a young man's folly. Things are not yet so ill here that the people would welcome a champion from the far North, still less a Captain bidding for the rule of the country. And I will not hurt these peoples, though the long descent of the Chieftains, father to son, break at last.

Also the prophecies are not yet complete, and Gandalf has tasks for me in the North that bear on this.

And I do grow weary of strange places. So in year or two I hope to have my feet under your table, and eat your oatmeal without complaint, and your maple shortbread with great pleasure.

There is honey in plenty in Gondor, and the honey-sand of Harad, which is nearly clear as crystal and very sweet, but otherwise tasteless. Few oats are grown, and they are given to horses. Barley becomes soup and bread, though a few taverns serve ale, mostly to visitors. Even the poor drink wine, though it is very young, and little like that poured in Imladris.

Do you remember, Mother, when first we helped the household there make Yuletide puddings? I helped the twins grease and flour the pudding-clothes, and greased and floured myself at least as thoroughly. I still remember your face when you saw me, thick with boar's grease and chestnut flour--and the faces of the twins when Glorfindel told them that it would be their task to see me clean. This they did, though I pity the servant that cleaned the baths after us. Even now I find it hard to think of the twins as long-lived, for they seemed so little older than myself.

Only your training in courtesy kept me from spitting out the pudding mix when I tasted it, for it was dry and rough, and bitter with acorns and wild apples. Erestor explained to me that this was as it should be, for an easily eaten pudding might be consumed at once, and not kept until the time of real need.

Indeed, the same mix seven years mellowed, well steamed and sauced with honey and spices, went down well enough.

So may it prove with this long scouting trip of mine--harsh and bitter now, but of great use afterwards. I have learned much, both of the direction of large troops in battle, and of the chancy art of governing peoples of many sorts, each with their own wants and needs. And now I study the uses of ships, and the habits of pirates. At least the blood of Numenor runs true in this, that I am not subject to seasickness.

As for your gifts, I choose what would travel light and not be easily damaged. The needles are of Dwarf-wrought steel. Dwarves themselves come rarely to Minas Tirith now, but their works reach here by travelers and traders. The thread, they tell me, is unwound from the cocoons of moths reared in the Uttermost East. At any rate it is fine and strong.

I have a request for you. When you have finished the work on your loom, for I am well sure there is something, string it anew, and weave a Plaid for me, that I may appear among my own people again as one of them.

There are pretty girls and fine ladies enough in Gondor, some of whom would not despise a mercenary, but to me they seem but sparks from a bonfire, for I have always in my thoughts two stars, Arwen Evenstar, who my heart turned to when I was barely twenty, and you, the unwavering Polestar of my mind.

Stay warm this winter, Mother. Give yourself the thoughtful care you always gave me.

And greet the people of the NorthWest for me, and tell them their Chieftain thinks often of them, and trusts that they hold true to their traditions.

Until we meet,

Your loving son,

Aragorn"

A flicker across her eyes, as if she had stood up too quickly, though she had not moved, and the foresight of her parents fell home, telling her that her son's hopes might well come true.

"Oh, Halbarad. He writes that he may come home to us in a year or two."

"That is very good. We of the NorthWest are not like folded sheep, that must be constantly tended, but hardy and canny as the moorland breed. Still it will lift our hearts to have our Chieftain among us again"

"You must not think he will be always here, for he writes that Gandalf has tasks for him in the North."

"Nothing else is to be expected. I wish you happy in this news, Lady."

"So I am, and so may we all be," said Gilraen, widow of Arathorn, "On the shortest day, and the longer days beyond it".

And she kept these things in her heart, considering them carefully.


End file.
